


Another Tattoo

by searchingwardrobes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Intimacy, emma's walls, killian's tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: As Emma traces the tattoo on Killian's wrist with her thumb, she's more sure than ever that she can't tell him her secret. Killian does something unique to assure Emma she doesn't need to fear the future. Set after 6x02.





	

**Author's Note:**

> * I know there have been many fics about Emma finally fessing up to Killian, but here's my take on it.

              The early morning rays of the sun shone through the cracks in the blinds, and Emma Swan blinked at the brightness in front of her eyelids. As she felt herself slowly emerge from the haze of sleep, the first thing that came into focus was the metal hook standing at attention on her nightstand, the curve of stainless steel glinting in the morning light. A sleepy smile filled Emma’s face as memories of the night before came rushing back. Finally – finally! – she and Killian had gotten some uninterrupted alone time, and despite the heavy burden Emma was hiding from him, it had been glorious.

              Emma rolled over to face him in their king size bed, slightly surprised that he was still asleep. Her heart constricted as she watched the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. Unable to resist the temptation to be nearer to him, she slowly eased herself to his side, wriggled into the crook of his arm, and lay her head on his chest. Killian shifted in his sleep, but didn’t awaken. Emma was glad; she wanted to drink in the sight of him: his face relaxed in sleep, his dark hair sticking up adorably, and the sheets pooled at his waist. Emma reached up to trace first his jawline and then the scar on his cheek. Her hand stilled as Killian sighed and turned his face into her touch, but he still didn’t waken.

              Killian’s vulnerability in sleep and the gentle thud of his heart beneath her cheek suddenly became overwhelming, and Emma turned over to face the nightstand again. Yet she didn’t pull away from his side. His right arm still lay loosely beneath her, and when she looked down the tattoo at the end of his wrist was on perfect display by the light of the window. It had never bothered her, never made her jealous. She traced it lazily now with the pad of her thumb, over the letters that spelled _Milah,_ the curves of the heart, the jagged edges of the dagger. Killian shifted again behind her. He rolled towards her, gathering him close to her with both arms. He mumbled a good morning against her neck, his breath and scruff tickling her skin.

              Neither of them made a move to rise. The rise and fall of Killian’s chest against her bare back made Emma wonder if he had dozed off again. She still hadn’t let go of his right wrist, her thumb still playing over the colors tattooed there. She knew the whole story behind the tattoo now. There should have been no more questions.

              “Killian?” Emma whispered.

              “Mhm . . .” he responded sleepily, voice muffled against her shoulder.

              “Why didn’t you get a tattoo when Milah was still alive?”

              Killian chuckled, and she could tell by the sound of his voice that he was fully awake now. “I suppose because she wasn’t quite the romantic I was. She would have found such a gesture . . . sentimental.”

              Emma fell silent, glad he couldn’t see her face. Thoughts tumbled in her brain, becoming so twisted up she feared she would never sort them out. The urge to stay here forever – lock the door and keep the rest of the world out – surged up inside her.

              Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Killian began to trail kisses along her bare shoulder. In a teasing voice, he asked, “Are you trying to hint that you want me to get an Emma Swan tattoo?”

              “No!”

              The word burst from Emma’s throat like a bullet from a gun. She sprang from Killian’s embrace as if his touch burned her. With shaking hands she grabbed her bathrobe and pulled it tight around herself.

              “No,” she muttered again, tucking her hair behind her ears and avoiding the hurt she was sure would be in Killian’s eyes. “That’s the last thing I want.”

              Before Killian could say a word, she turned and fled from the bedroom. She went downstairs to the kitchen and began making coffee, slamming cabinet doors to try and release her frustrations with the universe. When she turned around, she wasn’t surprised to find Killian standing there.

              “Have I done something, love? Something to upset you?”

              It broke her heart that Killian assumed this was his fault. She sighed and wearily rubbed her temple. “No, babe, of course not.”

              Killian narrowed his eyes, as if attempting to read her. “Are you sure?”

              Emma felt her hand suddenly start to shake again. She clasped her hands together to mask it, and in her frustration, she snapped, “Yes, I’m sure!”

              Emma saw the fire of his temper flare up in his eyes. “Then why did you respond the way you just did upstairs? As if the thought of a tattoo to symbolize my love for you was grotesque?”

              “That’s not what I meant!”

              “Does my tattoo bother you?”

              “No!!”

              “Then what?!”

              “Because a tattoo would mean I’m dead!”

              The look on Killian’s face went from anger and hurt to shock in a single moment. “Why would you . . .I don’t . . .” He shook his head in confusion, stepping towards her and taking her hands in his. “Are you ill?”

              Emma shook her head, unable to stop the tears from spilling down her face. She couldn’t do this to him. She thought of Liam dying in his arms, of Gold crushing Milah’s heart right in front of him. She thought of the little lost boy with no parents. He had lost everyone. And now, even though he had come back from the dead, he would lose her too.

              Emma squared her shoulders and wiped at her cheeks. Killian tried to hold her, but she stepped from his embrace and turned her back.

              “I’ll tell you everything, Killian, but I can’t look at you while I do. It hurts too much.” And then it all came pouring out: the visions, what Hyde had said, the oracle in the woods.

              “Emma-“ Killian began, his voice laced with comfort, but Emma cut him off.

              “I have to get ready for work now.”

              Killian didn’t attempt to press her for conversation as she showered and dressed. When she left for the station, he gave her a chaste good-bye kiss on the cheek. Emma avoided eye contact, so she wasn’t sure if he was respecting her space or pulling away to lessen the sting of inevitable loss. She herself was intimately familiar with the latter. She wouldn’t blame him.

              He did try to call while she was at work. Only twice – he wasn’t the pushy type. Both times, Emma slid her thumb across the screen to reject his call, the weight of guilt pressing down between her shoulder blades.

              That evening, she told her father that it was about time she organized the mess of files the dwarves had left behind while they were all in Camelot. David raised his eyebrows and asked if anything was wrong between her and Hook. Her nerves were so raw, she snapped a “no” in response that made her father visibly jerk. Which made it pretty obvious that things _weren’t_ fine, but her father asked no more questions.

              As Emma had planned, by the time she got home, the house was dark. The first thing she noticed when she walked through the front door was Henry’s book bag at the foot of the stairs. Her guilt intensified in realizing she had missed an evening with her son. On the kitchen table were two notes: one from each of her boys. Killian’s informed her in his flowery script that he had left a plate of dinner for her in the fridge. Henry’s, despite everything, brought a smile to her lips: “Mom! Killian helped me finish my homework early so we could have a movie night. Ask him what he thought of Han Solo! Love you, Henry”

              Emma, not feeling the least bit hungry, bypassed the fridge and headed straight for the stairs. She tiptoed quietly so she wouldn’t wake anyone. In the master bedroom she found Killian asleep with a book still in his hand and the lamp still on. As her gaze swept over his bare torso, she noticed something on his left shoulder that hadn’t been there before. Easing herself as quietly as possible onto the mattress, she leaned over for a closer look. Sure enough, there on Killian’s left shoulder was a new tattoo, still covered in the sheen of ointment from the tattoo parlor.

              Emma gasped softly when she saw what it was. A swan’s neck bending gracefully towards a curved hook to form a heart. The bed shifted, and Emma lifted her gaze to meet Killian’s bright blue eyes. He searched her face in a silent question, then smiled.

              “You’ve never minded that I’m sentimental.”

              And that was all Killian said as he caught one of Emma’s tears with his thumb. He could have said so many things, and most likely with perfect eloquence. He could have reminded her of Zeus, or all the times they had defied fate. He could have told her he had faith in her to defeat any foe. But he didn’t say any of those things.

              He didn’t have to. The tattoo said it all.

             


End file.
